


Girls Like Us

by FreshBrains



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: femslash_kink, Exhibitionism, F/F, Face-Sitting, Light Dom/sub, Multi, Multiamory March, Oral Sex, POV Christy, Polyamory, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 06:51:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6363793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Relax, babe. We’re at <i>Harvard</i>.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Girls Like Us

**Author's Note:**

> For the DW Annual Femslash Kink Meme 2015 prompt: [The Social Network: Alice/Christy, exhibitionism + sharing toys (maybe Erica?)](https://femslash-kink.dreamwidth.org/15813.html?thread=2213061#cmt2213061).
> 
> (This fic assumes all characters are totally fictional. They are based off the movie characters, not anyone who may have "inspired" these women).

Christy’s a smart girl—always has been. Ranked at the top of her classes from kindergarten all the way through undergrad, and she plans to be the best student the Biomedical Engineering program has ever seen. She’s _smart_ , and beautiful, and when she and Alice go out for drinks after seeing Bill- _fucking_ -Gates lecture about success at her (her, _her_ ) school, she knows she’s destined for great things.

“God, what’s gotten into you tonight?” Alice giggles against Christy’s lips, fingers loose on Christy’s jaw, but she doesn’t pull away. The booth is near the hostess stand, right in front of the bar for everyone to see as they walk past, and Christy doesn’t care for one second. She kisses at Alice’s neck, nibbling at the skin peeking out from between the folds of Alice’s winter scarf.

“Relax, babe. We’re at _Harvard_.” There are words that go unspoken— _look at us, look how far we’ve come, let them look. We can do anything we want._ Most of the students in the bar are white and uptight, obviously from old New England money and bloodlines, paired up in obvious male-female couplings, and Christy is so _bored_ with them. They have the world at their fingertips, they’re beautiful and brilliant, yet they’re still so concerned with how people _see_ them? Christy will never understand it. It makes her blood go hot, makes her twine her fingers in Alice’s long hair and tug her closer, deepening the kiss.

Alice melts under the ministrations; she always does. She’s always been Christy’s second—a little shier, a little quieter. But she’s got the same fire beneath her skin, the same itch that propels her headlong into the future at Christy’s side. So she grins, flushing high in her cheeks, and kisses Christy back.

They move it to the bathroom eventually. It’s one of those hip, open-door, dimly-lit rooms with a few rickety stalls; clean but pretentiously disheveled in the way much of New England can be. It’s the worst place to pee or have a mental breakdown, but it’s the best place to fuck in public if you want to be heard, if you want people to whisper about you with looks of derision and thinly-veiled arousal and maybe a hint of fear.

Christy hitches Alice up against the stall door, relishing in the loud bang of the abused hinges, seeing the dust drift off from the ceiling tiles. There’s music playing, and glasses clinking, and they’re not _that_ loud—they’ll be heard if people listen, and this is the Ivy League. People are _definitely_ listening. She wraps Alice’s leg around her waist, Alice’s dress pooling around their hips as they grind together, slow and hot and practiced.

“Ever thought we’d be here, A?” Christy pulls away just long enough to breathe out the question through kiss-swollen lips. She unbuttons Alice’s dress to the waist, cups her hands around Alice’s La Perla. Christy feels herself go warm and languid with arousal.

“That’s a loaded question,” Alice says, eyes feverish. She tips her head back so it bangs against the door when Christy kisses down her neck and between the valley of her breasts.

Christy knows what she’s thinking— _Harvard? Fucking in a public bathroom? Fucking_ each other? She just laughs her way down until she’s at the hem of Alice’s skirt, then there’s considerably less talking.

Outside the bathroom, the world keeps turning, and Christy is _flying_.

*

They look good together. Christy knows it and she _loves_ it—she and Alice have always complimented each other. They walk around campus with their pinkies twined together, never too far apart, even though they’re in different concentrations. They can have a conversation with only their eyes; they’ll laugh at a joke that only they hear. They share food off forks, mix up their skirts and sweaters and necklaces, fall asleep twined together in Alice’s bed (always hers, because her dorm mattress is superior).

And one day, they catch Erica Albright’s eye at an internet café and know they’ll be sharing her, too.

“Zuckerberg? Yeah, we know him.” Christy shares a glance with Alice; Alice arches a brow before rolling her eyes. “The question is, how do _you_ know him?”

Erica shrugs, beanie pulled low over her hair. “We used to date.” She flushes a little; her face is blank and intelligent, but she’s obviously not comfortable in her skin. “I actually recognized you two from his profile picture on Facebook, and I just wanted to...” she trails off, gesturing to their table.

Christy scoffs, flicking her hair over her shoulder. Alice subconsciously mimics the gesture, and a small smile quirks to Erica’s lips. “Yeah, he was quite a piece of work. I think we took more pictures together than we had conversations.” Zuckerberg was the type of guy who cared desperately what people thought of him but derided the very concept of peer validation—the worst type of personality, in Christy’s opinion. “We’re really in his profile pic?”

“Unfortunately,” Erica says. She has a gorgeous voice—all low and husky. Very _collegiate_ , if Christy had anything to say about it. “Can I sit?”

“Of course,” Alice says, and she and Christy both pull out a chair for Erica, pinkies touching. They don’t even have to look at each other, but they _know_.

*

Erica’s a good sport about visiting for weekends, even though some of the other students can be dicks about her BU sweatshirt. She lives out of a duffle bag from Friday afternoon to Monday morning in the comfort of Christy and Alice’s dorm room, and for that amount of time, the single beds are pushed together in the center of the room so all three of them can fit.

“You’re so beautiful,” Alice breathes, hands firm on Erica’s hips, lips grazing Erica’s labia. Her long nails are painted bright red and they perfectly match the scores of scratches down Erica’s thighs and stomach. But instead of looking at Erica, who is clawing at the bed sheets with her eyes squeezed shut, she’s looking at Christy, who is sitting up against the headboard, hand between her legs.

 _So are you_ , Christy mouths at Alice, and Alice smiles before ducking down to lick up Erica’s cunt, ending with pressure on her clit.

“Oh, _god_ ,” Erica whines, throwing a hand over her eyes, her dark hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. “You two…you two are too much.”

Christy’s already turned on—so wet she’s soaking the purple sheets on the bed, clit hard, but at those words alone, she could come. Erica’s smart, and beautiful, and accomplished, and she’s there in her and Alice’s dorm room, on their bed, mindless with pleasure from _them_.

(It wasn’t like this in high school, when Christy would be mocked for being president of the A/V Club and the football players would tug their eyes back in the hallway when she and Alice walked to class together…it wasn’t _good_ before college, there was nothing for girls like them before college, and _now_ , now people look at them and respect them, _fear_ them, and Christy could go back and _kill_ those jocks with nothing but her bare hands…)

“Chris?” Erica is peeking out from behind her hand, breasts rising and falling as she pants through her pleasure. “Are you okay?” Her voice is hesitant, like she wants to let Christy occupy her own headspace for a moment. She’s always been like that; she knows how they think.

Alice glances up for a moment, but she’s still between Erica’s legs, hands squeezing Erica’s knees apart.

And Christy is okay. She’s _been_ okay. College makes her okay. “Yeah, sweetie,” she says, smoothing Erica’s hair back, leaning down to kiss her. “Now, are you going to be a good girl and get me off?”

Erica’s cheeks and neck go red; she jerks under Alice’s touch, belly muscles contracting. Christy knows she’s clenching against Alice’s mouth. “Would you…” Christy already knows what she’s going to say, but she likes _hearing_ it. “Would you…on my face?” She loves the feeling of being surrounded by her girlfriends, one inside of her and one on top of her, overwhelming her, making her whole.

When Christy straddles Erica’s face and lowers herself down on her waiting mouth, she feels Alice’s hand come up and drift down her back, stroking her gently, as if to say, _I’m right here, babe_. As if Christy could, or _would_ , ever forget.

She’s in Harvard. She’s brilliant, she’s beautiful, and she’s got the two most amazing women in her bed. And finally, _finally_ , she’s right where she belongs.

**Author's Note:**

> There are hints towards racism that Christy and Alice may have experienced, but they are not explicit and no slurs are used.


End file.
